


What's Your Excuse This Time?

by Jayden und Verwelkt (SailorVFan10)



Series: For We Are the Beautiful Thieves [13]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Community: mission_insane, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-15
Updated: 2010-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 08:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorVFan10/pseuds/Jayden%20und%20Verwelkt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The age old question and the age old answer for something done wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Your Excuse This Time?

**Author's Note:**

> [Master Table](http://community.livejournal.com/deardisclaimer/49944.html) // [03\. Phrases](http://community.livejournal.com/deardisclaimer/49944.html#cutid3)

_I've got a clear shot_ , Schuldig thought as Farfarello distracted Weiss. The short blond boy—what was his name again?—was shielding a girl shrieking for him to get away. Her shrill cry was hurting his ears and giving him a blaring headache, and he had to try his hardest to not shoot her so she'd shut up. He aimed and was about to make his shot when the stupid bitch got in his way. And just when he was going to 'suggest' she get out of the way—

 _Bang_.

 _Shit!_ "Goddammit, Farfarello! You weren't supposed to shoot her!" Balinese tried to catch Schuldig in the death grip of his garotte, but Schuldig was too fast for that. Why did Weiss even try to win against people who were just so superior?  
Farfarello merely shrugged as he held both Siberian and Balinese off. "It pains Bombay or whatever his name is, so why are you complaining?"  
"We were given _orders_. That 'banshee' was _Takatori's daughter_."  
Farfarello shrugged again. It didn't make a difference and he didn't see why Schuldig cared so much. In reality, Schuldig couldn't have cared less about the girl, or what Takatori thought or said. He even enjoyed the anguished cries of Bombay as he clutched the dying girl in his arms. It was _Crawford_ who worried him the most. He learned a long time ago to never piss Crawford off. Takatori's anger would be like licks from a puppy in comparison.

 _Oh well, casualties happen_ , Schuldig thought, though he knew that excuse wouldn't fly well with Crawford, it was the best he could think of right that moment.  
"We're leaving— _now_ ," he said, grabbing Farfarello. He tried to escape to cause more pain and suffering, especially to Siberian.

They drove off before Weiss could react and follow after them.

-x-

"Explain yourself," Crawford said as he slammed the door to his office closed. Schuldig pictured it ripping free of the hinges and falling to the ground outside Crawford's 'private space'. The thought was kind of funny and he couldn't help but chuckle a little, causing a glare of icy death to be thrown his way thanks to Crawford's bad mood.  
When there was no explanation given from anyone, he said, "Explain to me what I Saw, starting _now_."

He looked to Schuldig and Farfarello to see who was the guilty party. Crawford only Saw Ouka getting shot; he did not know who did the shooting except that it was one of his men. Schuldig sat on Crawford's desk and Farfarello opted to stand near the door, as far away from Crawford as possible. Crawford gave Schuldig such a severe look that it almost wiped the smirk off his face. _Almost_.

"Why are you looking at _me_?" Schuldig asked, attempting to sound innocent. "Just because my name means 'guilty', doesn't mean I did it." _This time_ , he felt like adding.  
"Your track record does not speak well in your favour."  
"Look, Crawford. She got in my way, I didn't have time to get her out of my line of sight when Farfarello over here decided it'd be easiest to shoot first and ask questions later. What did you want me to do, jump in front of it myself and ruin my reputation in the process?" He crossed his arms. "I'm a sociopath, not a humanitarian."

Crawford changed the victim of his glare to Farfarello. "What do you have to say for yourself?"  
Farfarello almost said nothing at all. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, it caused that one Weiss boy such pain, he might kill himself and then our mission would be accomplished anyway." He smiled twistedly.  
Crawford was not amused. "Get out. _Both of you_." He opened the door and practically threw Farfarello out. "I'll put you in your straitjacket in a minute. Nagi! Lock Farfarello in his cell.  
Nagi, who was walking to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, took one look at Crawford and the Irishman in his grasp and decided it was better to not ask questions. He took hold of Farfarello and led him towards his cell.

"The hell'd _I_ do?" Schuldig asked when Crawford was about to do the same to him.  
"You're giving me a headache," Crawford answered. "I have to see what I can do in terms of damage control."  
"Don't complain about headaches to me unless you've suffered migraines all your life. Then we'll talk."  
"Either make yourself useful and get me an aspirin or get out of my office."  
"What am I, your servant?"  
"Be useful or get out of my sight."  
Schuldig scoffed as he got up and walked over to the door. "Well," he said, leaning against the door jamb, "I guess that's better than, 'Get the hell out of my life.'"

And just as he was about to leave, Schuldig added, "You might want to calm down. You don't want to go grey at twenty-seven or be all wrinkled by thirty, do you?" He grinned. "I can help you with that, you know..." He gripped Crawford's rather expensive tie—Crawford never bought anything cheap in his life, he thought—and yanked hard on it, pulling him down the necessary four inches so he could steal a kiss and possibly piss Crawford off even more.

"Was it _really_ necessary to bite me?"  
Crawford smirked. "Yes. Yes it was."  
Schuldig pouted, but said nothing as he slinked out of Crawford's office and down the hall to the living room.  
 _It seemed like a good idea at the time, you know._


End file.
